


Making it Better

by LydiaJ



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Thomas Jopson/Lt. Edward Little, Multi, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaJ/pseuds/LydiaJ
Summary: After the remains of the expedition return to England, everyone is in high spirits. Well, almost everyone. Francis Crozier is withdrawing from the world. Thomas Blanky isn't going to let him slip away, though, and he enlists Sir James Clark Ross to help.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Thomas Blanky/Sir James Clark Ross
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Making it Better

There was something wrong with Captain Crozier, they all agreed. Even the newly-minted Captain Fitzjames had noticed and cornered Thomas at one of the unending parties they were forced to go to.  
“Do you know what’s the matter with Francis, Mr. Blanky?” he had asked, “I’ve barely seen him since we came back. And when I have, he’s seemed… badly.”  
They both looked to the corner that Francis Crozier was sitting in. He had dark shadows under his eyes and his uniform hung loosely on him, despite their having been back in London for several months. At least he wasn’t holding a glass.  
“I’ve barely seen him,” Thomas said, “and I’ve called on him as often as I can. He turns me away at the door. He’s done the same to Jopson.”  
“And me, as well,” said Lietenant Little, coming up beside them. “The only reason he comes to things like this is that Miss Cracroft drags him to them.”  
"It worries me," Captain Fitzjames said.   
"It worries us all," Thomas said. 

Jopson paced back and forth, wringing his hands. "I'm not sure what to do."   
Little watched him, clearly worried. "None of us are."  
"What I'd like to do," Thomas said, "Is knock some sense into him. But that wouldn't help."  
"Would you really do that?" Jopson asked. He looked at Thomas with abject horror. "To the Captain?"   
"He's morbing about for little reason. A knock upside the head is what he deserves. If he goes on like this..." He found that he couldn't continue.   
"Is it truly that bad?" Now Jopson was on the verge of tears. "Could he... would he..."  
"He may do anything, lad. That's why we have to try to help him." Thomas gave him an encouraging smile. "He'll listen to us, I know he will."   
"Don't cry, Tom," Little said, and gathered Jopson into his arms. Jopson rested his head on Little's shoulder. They were, in Thomas's eyes at least, very obvious in their affections for each other. But perhaps they were only obvious to people who knew them closely.  
"What is the plan?" Jopson asked.  
"We talk to him. To start, anyway. We convince him that he has friends here, friends he can rely on. Then... well then we support him however he needs."  
"I will always support the Captain," Jopson said, loyal as always.   
"Of course," Little said, stroking his hair. "We all will." 

They arrived at Francis's rooms on a bright, sunny day. Thomas took the lead, with Jopson and Little behind him. He rapped smartly at the door. Francis opened it almost immediately. He looked exhausted. His clothes were rumpled.   
"Hello, Francis," Thomas said, "It's a nice day out."   
"So it is." Francis squinted at the sky. "Why are you here?"  
"We just wanted to visit," Little said, "we were... in the area."   
"Were you?" Francis asked, "and you just decided to drop in on your old Captain."   
"We wanted to see you, sir," Jopson said. He was leaning on Little's shoulder, beaming at Francis. Any worry he felt was carefully concealed. Smart boy.   
"Are you going to invite us in?" Thomas asked.   
Francis sighed. "I suppose I should. You are kind, to come." But he opened the door wider anyway, and let them in.

Francis was, for whatever reason, making an effort to be hospitable. Perhaps it was being faced with Jopson's wide, hopeful eyes. Perhaps it was knowing that Thomas wasn't going away easily. Either way, he put a kettle on and didn't immediately throw them out.  
Little and Jopson managed to keep a steady flow of small talk up. It seemed like it might be a nice, innocuous visit. Thomas felt hopeful that Francis was, perhaps, feeling better.  
Then Jopson said something about Sir John. Francis's expression immediately darkened.   
"We should not talk about him," he said, voice rough. "He gets enough acclaim elsewhere."   
"He was a brave leader," Little said, "surely he deserved it."   
"There are many who go unmentioned who deserve acclaim as well," Francis said, "why does he have what they don't?"  
"Rank," Thomas said, "status. A wife who won't shut up about it to the Admiralty."   
Francis quirks an eyebrow at that. "You have a point. Still..." He trailed off and frowned.   
"Captain," Jopson said, "are you worried?" He always had a way of seeing what was wrong with Francis.   
"Not worried, Jopson, annoyed. Annoyed at society." Francis was being more forthright than he usually was around people other than Thomas.  
This went on for a bit, before Thomas had to relieve himself. He excused himself for a moment and, when he came back, things had gotten worse in a very short period of time. Little and Jopson were standing side by side, faced with an irate Francis. He'd gone pale in the way he only did when he was truly furious.  
"Out." Francis, it seemed, had had enough. Enough of what, Thomas wasn't sure.   
"But-" Little said.  
"Get. Out." Francis's voice was cold. He glared at all of them. "Leave me in peace."   
"Captain..." Jopson started, but he trailed off, helplessly.   
"I will tell you one more time. Leave." Francis stood and walked to the door. "Now."   
Thomas sighed and started for the door. There was no reasoning with Francis when he was like this. "Come along, lads. We'll not trouble you more, Francis."   
Francis does not look relieved at this. On the contrary, he looks more thunderous.   
The door slammed behind them as they left. Thomas sighed and looked at the other two.   
"What did you say?" he asked.  
"We...we were merely disagreeing with his belief in human nature," Jopson said.   
"He was of the belief that people were terrible and venal," Little said, "And he was right to shut himself away. I didn't know that he felt like that."  
Thomas rolled his eyes. "You can't reason with him when he's in a black mood like that. Disagreeing just makes him angry. As you saw."  
"We should apologize," Jopson said.   
"Most likely," Thomas said, "but not now. He won't hear it."  
So they left, Thomas to his lodgings, and Little and Jopson to theirs. 

Thomas tried to visit Francis again a few days later, alone. He though he might be more reasonable if it was just him. Francis was not. He hadn't answered the door. When Thomas peered in his bedroom window, he'd threatened to knock his head off. Thomas had decided to retreat before he made good on his promise.

At his wit's end, Thomas did the only thing he could think of. He called upon Sir James Clark Ross.   
"Francis is not well," he said, as soon as he'd been ushered into the sitting room, "We must help him."  
"His health troubles me, as well," Ross said, "I will not lose him, not after he's come all this way. Not after everything he's survived."  
"I thought he was doing well. He was doing well, until we returned. Then we all came home, and he..." Thomas trailed off, unable to continue and buried his face in his hands. Dimly, he noticed that James had sat down next to him, but it was still unexpected when he pulled him into his arms. He clung to James, fighting back tears. "He looks like he's dying."   
"We will save him, Thomas, you and I." James's voice was firm. "We saved each other through my uncle's expedition, after all."   
Thomas sniffled and shifted so he was sitting more easily. "We can't just bundle him into a sack and hold him until he comes to his senses, though."   
"We can bundle him into bed, though," James said, "he's been amenable to that in the past."   
"With me, as well," Thomas said, "do you think that would work?"  
"It worked with you, didn't it?"   
Thomas remembered that night. He'd been desperate, without hope, unable to see any future save death. James had found him sitting at the edge of Fury Beach, staring at the freezing water, wondering how fast it would kill him.   
"For the love of God, come away from there," James had said, pulling his arm, "you're worrying me."  
"We are never going home," he had said, "We'll die here. On this Godforsaken beach." 

"No, Thomas, no. We are going home. We will live." James had pulled him up and into his arms.   
He'd clung unashamed to him. No one else was around to see, anyway.   
James had brought him to the ice hut they'd shared and bundled the two of them into their sleeping bag. They'd been tucked together like two spoons in a drawer. With James's arms around him, he had found that he could think more clearly. He felt more peaceful. He even managed a couple of hours of sleep.  
After that, after they'd rested, they'd gotten each other off, close in the bag. They'd kissed, at the end. It had felt natural. An affirmation of their bond. Nothing like the sordid things they'd expected from the preachers.  
Now, he thinks about repeating that, with Francis. He knows James and Francis had slept together before. He's not sure what the circumstances were, though probably not very dire ones. On the Antarctic expedition, surely.   
"It's worth a try, I suppose. It surely can't make Francis worse." He sighed. 

Thomas and James visited Francis on Saturday. It's a fitting day, overcast and drizzly. They didn't send word ahead of them; warning Francis wouldn't help anything. They had to make him see reason.   
Thomas rapped on the door. There was no answer. He wasn't surprised. Francis was probably in his bedroom, at the back of the house. When he was in a mood like this, he often retreated to his bed. At least now he was less likely to retreat into a bottle.   
James stood on his toes and inspected the door jamb. He felt along the top, until he dislodged a key. "He always kept a spare key above the door. I'm not sure why, but it is handy."  
"Keep an eye out, though. He'll be cross."  
"Of course he'll be cross. He's been nothing but, lately. But we'll fix that, you and I." James sounded very sure of himself.  
Inside Francis's rooms was dark and dusty. There was no sign of him. There was no sign of food, either. Thomas sighed in relief when he realized there were no empty bottles strewn about.   
"Where is he?" James asked.  
"Perhaps his bedroom," Thomas said, "he was there the last time I came by."   
"I thought he'd have appeared, at least to tell us to go away."  
They looked at each other, worried. Then they turned together to his bedroom door. No sound emitted from it. Thomas moved to the door and put his ear to it. He could hear faint breathing. So Francis was in there and, probably, asleep. 

"Should we disturb him?" he asked.  
"We're here already," James said. "We might as well. We're here to make him better, right?"  
"Well, yes, but he's asleep. Shouldn't we leave him to rest?"  
"Do you really want to leave?"  
"No." He frowned. "No, I want to help him."   
"I shall go first," James said, "He will be less likely to throw something at me."  
"Be my guest." Thomas gestured to the door.   
James opened the door slowly, peering around it. His body blocked Thomas's view of whatever he saw, but it made him draw in a breath in shock. Then he entered the room and Thomas was able to enter after him.  
Francis was curled in the center of his bed. The sheets were all in disarray, except for the one he was wrapped in, so all they could see was a few tufts of hair.   
James crossed to the bed in a few steps and sank down to sit on it. Francis gave no sign he knew he was there. James reached out a hesitant hand and rested it on Francis's side. Francis twitched at that, and rolled a little towards James. So he was alive, and amenable to them being there. Good.  
Thomas sat beside James on the bed and tweaks the tufts of hair visible above the sheet. Francis curls up more under the sheet at that. He pulls the sheet down a bit, only for Francis to curl up still further. If he did any more, he'd be spherical.   
"You can't escape us doing that," Thomas says.   
"I can damn well try," Francis said, muffled by the sheets.   
"Oh, Frank," James said, "please stop hiding from us. We want to help you."  
"It's no use. I'm not worth it," Francis replied. Thomas and James exchanged worried glances at that. They hadn't heard him sound like that in years. Not since Sophia turned him down the first time.   
James stroked Francis's sheet-wrapped form. He shifted a bit closer, still under the sheet. That was something. Thomas reached out again and just laid a hand on his side. He felt Francis's breathe, in and out. It soothed him, just to know he was alive. Even if he was depressed and hiding from them.  
After a few minutes, Francis rolled over on his back and tugged the sheet down. He was bleary-eyed and stubbled. "Why'd you come?"   
"We love you," James said, "And we want you to be happy." Thomas could only nod in agreement. His heart was in his throat.  
"But why?" Francis looked shocked at the idea that they cared. He sat up so he was facing them. "Do I mean that much?"  
"Yes," Thomas said, voice hoarse, "Oh, yes, you do. Oh, Francis. That you could think..."  
"Frank," James murmured, "dear, dear Frank." He pulled Francis against him, kissing his forehead. Francis clung to him in return, hiding his face in his neck. Thomas watched them both, wanting to help, not sure how. He reached out, hand shaking, and laid it on Francis's back. He couldn't tell which of them was trembling more. When Francis pulled away from James, he saw that he was crying.   
"James... Thomas..." Francis's voice trembled, as well. "Please..." It seemed that he couldn't finish the sentence. He was still shaking, though from cold or emotions Thomas could not tell. He stroked the tears from Francis's cheeks and kissed him as sweetly as he could. Francis responded weakly, but Thomas was still heartened.   
"Why didn't you say anything?" James asked, "You did not have to bear this burden alone."   
"It is my burden to bear," Francis said, "I'm the captain. I'm the First. It was my responsibility." This sounded like something he'd said, over and over. Until he believed it.  
"It may have been your responsibility," Thomas said, "but you can share your burden. You must. Please." He's aware that he's pleading, desperate. But he can't help it. He can't bear to see Francis in this much pain.  
"I..." Francis trailed off, "please... help."  
"What do you need?" Thomas asked, relieved beyond measure.   
"I need... I need you both, please," he said.   
"How do you want us?" That was James. Ever sensible.   
"I don't care, just make me forget. Make me... happy. Please."   
"I'll do my best, Francis," Thomas said, pressing closer to his back. He kissed Francis's neck as gently as he could. Then he pressed his face into Francis's hair and held him as tight as he could, overlapping with James's.  
"I, as well, Frank," James said. He shifted so he could tip Francis's chin up and kiss him. They kiss passionately, though Thomas can only see it from his position. He shifted more to the side, but not entirely. He didn't want to let go of Francis.  
They bracketed him quite effectively. He gasped and sighed, then yelped when Thomas nipped at his neck. Thomas did it again, chuckling a little. He loved it when Francis responded like that.   
They clung together, all three of them. Francis, securely in the middle, could only take what they gave him. And they planned to give him so much.   
James kissed him again. It was more thorough, and slower. Thomas's view was most wonderful. Francis's movements against his prick, on purpose or not, were even better. He realized, abruptly, though, that he needed to be wearing fewer clothes. Francis, the lucky man, was only wearing his nightshirt.   
Thomas pushed himself back and quickly shucked his jacket and boots. After a brief pause, he removed his trousers, as well. When he returned to Francis, James took the opportunity to divest himself of his clothing, as well. Then, together, they enveloped Francis.  
Francis moaned, head thrown back, lost in pleasure. Thomas pressed closer to his back, hooking his chin over his shoulder. James was busy between his legs, pressing kisses to his thighs. He teased Francis, carefully avoiding his cock.   
"Yes, James," he murmured, "keep him on edge."  
"Please," Francis begged, "please."   
But they were not inclined to mercy. Not when they both knew exactly how to reduce him to a puddle of mindless pleasure. He'd punished himself for so long, they needed to remind him what a reward was.   
"You'll take what we give," Thomas murmured in his ear, "won't you?"  
"Yes," Francis moaned, "I will. I..." He clutched at James's hair, though he was careful not to pull too much.  
"Good boy," James said. Then he licked the tip of Francis's prick, once, lightly. Francis's hips bucked, but between them, they held him steady.  
"M'not. I'm older than both of you," Francis managed to choke out.   
"You'll always be our boy," Thomas murmured in his ear. He stroked Francis's sides gently, trying not to tickle him too much. Francis only twitched a little, so he must have succeeded.  
James pressed kisses all over Francis's prick. Thomas watched with fascination, as Francis writhed in his grasp. He was so sensitive and responsive, it was beginning to affect Thomas. He was having trouble keeping his hips still. If he didn't watch himself, he'd come all over Francis's back. He didn't want to do that too soon.   
"Please... please..." Francis begged, again.   
"Please what, Frank?" James asked. "You have to tell us."   
"Please suck me, James," Francis managed, "please."   
"Since you asked so nicely," James murmured, "I will. I will suck you so well, you'll forget your own name."   
Thomas couldn't help but thrust against Francis at that. "You say the nicest things, Jamie."   
"Of course I do." James smiled devilishly and darted out his tongue to taste the tip of Francis's cock. He then took his time, sliding his mouth slowly down Francis's cock. His mouth looked obscene, stretched liked that. Thomas couldn't tear his eyes away. He kept one arm around Francis, enjoying the feeling of skin-against-skin. It helped him keep his view, as well, even when Francis bucked and swore. He didn't want to miss a second of it.   
The sight was magnificent. He loved watching James with his mouth around a cock. He always went for it with such gusto. Thomas could only be impressed.   
The noises that came from all three of them were amazing. They moaned, they gasped, they even groaned. It was music to Thomas's ears. He could listen to it forever. Just luxuriating in that noise.   
But he had better things to do. They all did. They were all moving towards the precipice. The point of no return. James was done teasing Francis and was absorbed in trying to suck his brain out through his prick. From the way Francis was writhing in Thomas's arms, he was succeeding. Thomas just held on and enjoyed. He'd get his pleasure soon enough. He could feel it building.   
Francis gasped and shuddered and ejaculated in James's mouth. Thomas followed close behind, pressing close and shuddering against Francis. Only James was left. He was still erect, chest heaving, obviously desperate. Francis twisted until he met Thomas's eyes, communicating his plan in a glance.   
Then they both hauled him up and deposited him on the bed. They made sure he was high enough up that Thomas could lie beside him and still get at his prick. He and Francis bent to address his arousal. The scent of it is intoxicating. He pressed his face against James's groin and just inhaled for a second. Then he kissed his prick gently, and flicked his tongue over the tip. Francis moved beside him and devoted his attention to the shaft. They worked together easily, managing to not bump heads. They were practiced enough to make it easy.   
John gasped in pleasure and thrust his hips wildly. Thomas had to hold him down, lest he choke them. He must have been close, for he spent himself in Thomas's mouth after only a short time. Thomas swallowed it down easily, even if it did taste odd.  
The three of them rearranged themselves so they were all fully on the bed, snuggled together. Francis was in the middle. He was breathing more easily and looked as happy as he ever had. Thomas kissed his cheek and Francis nuzzled against him.   
"Do you feel better, Frank?" James asked.   
"I... I do," he said, looking up at them. "I really do."


End file.
